


Gonna Party Like it's 1990

by reindeerjumper



Series: College Years [2]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baby Bridget Jones, Baby Mark Darcy, Bridget's a spitfire, College, EARLY 90s, F/M, First Meetings, Mark is a giant dork, Summer, The youngest and fluffiest Mark Darcy, What-If, and Bridget lets him know it, and Mark's enamored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8734201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: A 21-year-old, fresh out of college Mark Darcy is on his way to the pub to meet up with some friends, when he meets fiery Bridget Jones...climbing out of her second story bedroom window. Curiosity gets the better of Mark, and before he knows it, he's completely enraptured with the girl.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm awful at math, but I tried my best with calculating ages and years. I went off of the BJD reference of the two of them only being 4 years apart, but went with Mark being 50 in BJB. Somewhere in my calculations I ended up with it being 1990 for them to be the ages I depicted them as. Like I said, math isn't my thing, so just roll with it ;) I also didn't really read through it (it's way later than I thought it was), so I'll leave a photo of fluffy, young Colin Firth at the end to make up for any grammatical errors.

Mark was home for summer break, and it was already proving itself to be far less stimulating than being at school. He had just finished up his final year at uni before heading out into the real world, a fresh-faced 21-year-old clutching his law degree with excitement and anticipation. His studies had been stimulating and engaging to him, and he knew that he had clearly picked the right career path, but the short two weeks he had already spent home at his parents’ were the polar opposite of stimulating and engaging. 

Never one to gravitate towards parties and pubs, Mark had begrudgingly agreed to head to the local pub in Grafton Underwood with some of his local friends for the night. He figured any kind of deviation from the stale routine he had already fallen into at his parents would be healthy, even if it wasn't his ideal choice. Already miserably uncomfortable with the decision, Mark had donned a Lacoste polo and a pair of khakis before heading out, unsure of what to wear to such a place on such a muggy July night. Mark left his shirt untucked, a sloppy habit he had picked up from Daniel Cleaver after he and his friends had teased Mark mercilessly about constantly looking so buttoned up. He ran a hand haphazardly through the fluff of his thick, curly hair, giving himself one more once over in the mirror before giving a satisfied shrug. 

In an attempt to avoid getting caught in the backseat of some drunk driver’s car, Mark had told his friends that he would meet them there. It was only about a half hour walk from his parents to the pub, and despite the sticky heat of the day, Mark was pleased to find the humidity had broken once the sun went down.  _ I can't believe I'm bloody well going out at 9:00 at night _ , he thought to himself as he shoved his fists into the pockets of his khakis. He wasn't used to cavorting around this late--ideally, this is when he'd like to be heading  _ home.  _ Alas, adult responsibilities weren't due to begin until the beginning of August, so any excuse he gave to his friends was transparent and questionable. 

Mark strolled along the road, listening to the crickets and taking his time. He couldn't remember the last time he had had any reason to go to Grafton Underwood...his parents had a few friends that lived in town, and he had vague memories of going to their homes when he was very young, but there wasn't much reason (or opportunity) for him to accompany them on trips to see their friends nowadays. They always went to a New Year’s Day party at one friend’s--the Johnson’s or the Jones’s, something like that--but he was usually either on his way back to Cambridge or tucked in his bedroom studying when they went.

Based on what his father had told him, they lived somewhere in the area he was currently walking through. He looked absentmindedly at the houses as he passed by them, able to see into some of the windows through the darkness by the lights from inside the houses. Some people were watching television, one family seemed to be having some kind of game night, an old lady was reading by herself...Mark smiled absentmindedly to himself, unaware of the stress that wasn’t present in his shoulder blades since last summer. It had been quite some time since he’d been able to just have a few moments to himself with his thoughts, no pressure or deadlines on his mind. 

As Mark walked along the lane, he could see the lights of the town in the distance. It was only a few more miles until he reached the small but busy downtown of Grafton Underwood, and he couldn’t help admiring the sparkle of the lights from a distance. He took a deep lungful of air, scanning the area around him as he approached the top of the hill that would eventually lead him into town. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet, and Mark was surprised at how pleased he was that he was out and about to partake in it.

The peace and quiet suddenly was interrupted by what sounded to Mark like rustling. He paused in the middle of the lane, hooking his thumbs on the slits of his pants pockets. He looked around, wary of any animal that may come skittering across the way from underneath a bush, but saw nothing underfoot. Mark let his gaze start to rake upwards, scanning over the houses and gardens nearby. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary...until he noticed someone climbing out of a second story window, clearly making an attempt to escape down the trellis that clung to the side of the house.

Wrinkling his eyebrows together in confusion and curiosity, Mark watched as the figure swung their second leg over the edge of the window and struggled to find footing on the trellis. Mark’s concern and helpfulness immediately kicked in, and he found his legs directing him towards the house.  _ They can’t be serious _ , he thought as the figure clung to the trellis. The closer Mark got, he realized that the figure was indeed a girl...she was wearing a pair of overall shorts with a tank top underneath and a Ked sneakers. He could see her blonde hair falling around her shoulders as she wedged her foot into an opening in the trellis, and he could hear her grunting in exasperation as she looked down the front of her towards the ground.

Mark was approaching her much more quickly than he had before--his heart was in his throat as he watched her dangling precariously off of the side of the house.  _ What in bloody hell am I supposed to do now? _ He was essentially standing underneath the window that the girl was climbing out of, and it took him a second to realize just how creepy it would seem if he continued to stand there, staring up at her, without saying anything. Mark took two or three steps backwards and cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized just how short her overalls were...they were frayed at the edges and  _ just snug enough _ to show off the muscles in her thighs as she slowly made her way down. Mark caught himself staring at the curve of her arse just a little too long before he felt the heat from embarrassment rising up under his collar. 

“Excuse me? Miss? Do you need some help?” he said, leaning his head back to look up at her hanging off the side of the trellis. 

The young girl gasped, pulling herself towards the trellis until she was flattened against it like a secret agent. “Bloody hell,” he heard her grunt, and Mark could swear it sounded like she had something in her mouth. The next thing he knew, the wind was knocked out of him as the girl threw her hair back over her shoulder to look down at him. 

Mark hadn’t expected to be so suddenly taken with the face glaring down at him. She couldn’t be more than 18-years-old, but she was absolutely beautiful. In the moonlight, the girl’s hair shone brilliantly as it waved down her back, stopping just below her shoulders. It framed her face in a way that made her look angelic, even if she  _ did _ have an unlit cigarette hanging off of her bottom lip. Even in the dark, Mark could make out that her eyes were blue, and they sparkled mischievously at him from her perch. He could see the muscles in her arms tense as her eyebrows raised. 

“Who the hell are you?” she hissed down at him. 

Mark looked up at her, somewhat taken aback by the brazenness of her tone, but also somewhat impressed that she hadn’t dropped her cigarette. He cleared his throat, then shoved his hands back into his pockets. “My name is Mark...I was walking to the pub and saw you climbing out the window. Looked like you were having trouble, so I figured I’d come see if you needed help.”

The girl glanced back up towards the window, clearly keeping an eye and ear out for someone approaching. She looked back down at him, her expression softened. “I’m fine. I’ve done this a million times. Thanks, though,” she said, and continued her laboriously slow descent.

By now, Mark was intrigued. He couldn’t help himself...this was probably the most exciting thing to happen to him in the past two weeks, and he couldn’t deny himself the fact that the sight of the girl’s denimed arse  _ was _ quite nice. He planted his feet firmly beneath the trellis, watching the girl struggle down with jerky, unsure movements. 

“You seem to be struggling a bit,” he said matter-of-factly, cocking his head to one side.

“ _ Jesus _ ,” he heard her say. “I didn’t realize you were still there. You’re going to scare the knickers right off of me.” Mark smiled at the thought--he was magnetically drawn to the fiery personality she displayed and couldn’t help egging her on.

“That wouldn’t be of much help then, would it?” he said with a smirk.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, a look of annoyance on her face. “Bloody keep it down. My mum and dad don’t know I’m sneaking out, and I don’t need you buggering it up for me.”

Mark took his hands out of his pockets and held them up at his sides in a salute of surrender. “My apologies,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to put you in more danger than you’re in now.” He then jammed his hands back into his pockets, surprised at how damp they were.

The girl ignored him and continued to climb down. She was almost down to the ground, but she slipped for a second, and Mark instinctively stepped forward, his hands exploding out of his pockets in case he needed to catch her. The girl caught herself, though, and he could hear her mutter, “Fucking hell,” as she looked down towards one of her sneakers. The laces had gotten caught up in the ivy that clung to the trellis, and no matter how much she shook her foot, she couldn’t loosen the lace from the plant. 

By this point, Mark could easily reach the shoelace from his place on the ground. All 6 feet 2 inches of him had no issue reaching up to loosen the lace from the ivy, but part of him didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. Clearly the girl was an independent spirit, and Mark instinctively felt that she would get defensive if he offered his assistance. So, he stood there, his arms crossing his chest with a bemused smile on his face. He couldn’t help looking at the way her leg muscles flexed as she tried to kick her foot loose, and the tautness of her arms as they held her up were something magnificent to behold. Mark very rarely found himself drawn to a member of the opposite sex this way...but there was something about her brash tenacity that radiated off of her, and he liked it. 

Clearly the girl was out of luck. Mark saw her shoulders slumped as she admitted defeat to herself, and he could see her slowly turn her head back towards him. The cigarette still clung to her bottom lip, which was now pushed out in the most endearing pout Mark had ever seen. 

“Need some help?” he said with an impish smirk.

He saw the girl close her eyes in exasperation, and then open them again with a sigh. “If you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing towards her foot with her head. Mark stepped forward as he shook his head. He was now standing directly below her, and he looked up to reach for the tangled shoelace. Within the fifteen seconds it took him to properly unhook her shoe from the ivy, Mark had caught himself looking at her arse at least twice. The heat under his collar was painfully obvious to him, and he had to furrow his brow to concentrate on the task at hand. Finally, the lace snaked away from the trellis, and Mark gave her foot a pat.

“All free,” he said, taking a step back. 

The girl sighed in relief and said, “Thank you so much.” She continued her descent, and Mark couldn’t help but stretch his arms up to help brace her against the gravity working against her. He had aimed for right above her hip bones, but somehow ended up with a handful of the denim-clad arse that he couldn’t take his eyes off of. 

“Oh, Christ, I’m sorry,” he said in a rushed tone, quickly taking his hands away from her backside. His hands were promptly stuffed back into his pockets, and he took two steps back this time. The flush on his cheeks was practically burning.  _ You fucking idiot. _

“S’alright,” the girl said with a chuckle as she jumped down from the last three feet of the trellis and landed forcefully onto the grass below her. Mark watched her look back up towards the window, clearly satisfied with herself as she wiped her hands on the fronts of her overalls. It was then that she turned towards Mark, and he got a proper look at her. 

He had been right, he felt, about her age--she was about 18, but he couldn’t tell on which side of the year she was. She was tiny compared to him, only coming up to his shoulder, but what she lacked in height she made up for in personality. Her round face housed two luminous blue eyes, fringed with beautiful, long lashes and framed by two perfectly arched eyebrows. Her cheeks were full and round, and in the glow of the moonlight, Mark could see a flush on them that made her look innocent and demure. The girl’s mouth was a perfect, rose-colored pout, and he couldn’t stop looking at how plush her lips were. The unlit cigarette still rested between them, and it made Mark oddly aroused--the cigarette was pushing a perfect divot into the softness of her bottom lip, and he found himself wanting to explore what her lips felt like pressed against his. 

“Thanks...Mark, wasn’t it?” she said, offering him one of her hands to shake. She had already started to maintain a summer tan, but the underside of her extended arm glowed milky white in the moonlight. He could make out a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a sprinkling of them on her exposed shoulders. 

Mark had to mentally stop himself from gaping at her, and he cleared his throat. He took her hand in his-- _ so small! _ \--and gave it a strong handshake. He was surprised at how strong her grip was on his hand, and she shook it with the confidence of a businessman. “Yes, Mark. You’re welcome...I’m glad I could help,” he said, licking his lips as he looked into her eyes.

The girl dropped his hand with a smile, and lifted her fingers up to her lips to pull the cigarette out from her mouth. She held it expertly between her pointer and middle finger, and used the same hand to comb through her hair, pushing it off of her face. “I’m Bridget,” she said, smiling shyly at him. It was the first time she seemed uncomfortable in front of him. He noticed her eyes searching his face, and the heat under his collar started to rise again. “Where are you headed?” she asked, pulling a lighter out of the pocket of her overalls.

“To the pub in town. I’m meeting a few mates for a drink or two.”

“Ah, I see. Home for summer break?” 

“I am. I just graduated, actually. I’m spending a few weeks at my parents’ until I start my job in London. Are you home? For break, I mean.”

“I am. Just finished my first year at uni...I’ve been home for almost two weeks now and I’m going absolutely insane being here. It’s a right bore. Luckily tonight there’s a party at my friend’s house, so that’s where I’m headed now.”

Bridget dipped her head forward and lit the cigarette that was back between her lips. He watched the flame from the lighter illuminate her face, and he couldn’t help staring at the shadows her eyelashes cast against the softness of her cheekbones. The sheet of blonde hair fell forward and curtained her face from him for a moment, and then she lifted her head again as she dragged on the cigarette and pushed her hair behind her ear. Mark watched her with fascination as she inhaled the smoke with obvious relief. The two pillows of her lips formed a perfect “O” as she exhaled, and she quickly fanned the smoke away from him with an apologetic look on her face.

“Sorry about that. You don’t smoke, do you?” she asked.

Mark shook his head. “Can’t say I do.”

Bridget nodded and looked at him more closely. “You know, the party I’m heading to is in the same direction as the pub. Mind me walking with you a little bit of the way?” she asked.

Mark was taken aback by the offer. He awkwardly shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t mind at all.” 

The two of them started back down the lane, a comfortable distance between them and an awkward silence hanging in the air. Mark could hear the crackle of Bridget’s cigarette as she took a drag on it, and he allowed himself to glance at her out of the side of his eye. Even her profile was lovely. Mark couldn’t believe how attracted he was to her.  _ Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with my nose buried in a book,  _ he thought to himself.  _ I’m just starved for female interaction. _ Bridget glanced over to him, and Mark quickly looked away. 

“You look awfully familiar,” Bridget said, and Mark took it as a cue to look back in her direction. “What’s your last name?”

“Darcy.”

A look of realization came over Bridget’s face. “You’re not the admiral’s son, are you?” she asked, her eyebrows threatening to escape into her hairline. 

Mark nodded. “I am,” he replied, giving her a smile. 

“Bloody hell, no wonder you look familiar. You have his chin!” Bridget exclaimed as a look of amusement lit up her face. “My parents are Colin and Pam Jones. Your parents come to their Turkey Curry Buffet every New Year’s Day...apparently they’ve known each other for ages!”

Mark let out a guffaw. “No way,” he said with uncharacteristic nonchalance. “I was wondering where they lived. My parents are always talking about them, and as I was walking through your neighborhood, I wondered if they lived nearby.”

“What a small world,” Bridget said as she smiled at him. Mark smiled back in agreement.  _ What a small world indeed.  _ “So why have I never seen  _ you _ at the Turkey Curry Buffet?” Bridget continued.

Mark shrugged. “I’ve never really had a chance to, I suppose. I was either away at school or studying.”

Bridget gave him a look of disgust, as if the idea of spending a holiday break at school or studying was ludicrous. “Why in the world would you rather be doing that?” she replied, dragging on the cigarette.

“I am--was--a law student. I’ve wanted to be a barrister for as long as I can remember...I’m not the type to throw something like that out the window for something frivolous like a holiday gathering.”

“I don’t mean just for the Turkey Curry Buffet...I just mean in general. Don’t you have any mates to hang out with during breaks? Clearly you do. You just told me yourself that you’re on your way to meet them now.”

“Of course I have mates,” Mark retorted, suddenly embarrassed. “I just...take my work very seriously.”

Bridget snorted and shook her head. “Good for you, then. You’re a much better person than I am. Don’t get me wrong, I take my studies seriously, too...I just don’t think it’s worth missing out on some fun to  _ study.” _

Mark stopped in the middle of the lane as he grappled with what he was feeling. Part of him was offended by his acquaintance’s bold statement, and the other part of him was attracted to her honesty with urgent importance. Bridget stopped a few feet ahead of him, suddenly aware of his abrupt stop, and she turned her body around to face him. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

Mark cocked an eyebrow at her, his head tilted at an angle as he said, “Um, yes, I think. I just...was taken aback by your statement.” He started walking again, and once he was parallel with Bridget again, she fell into step beside him. “I guess I never thought of it that way…’missing out on fun.’ My studies to me  _ are  _ fun.”

“What type of law are you going for?” Bridget asked in a more hushed tone than before. It was clear to her that she had offended him on some level, and he was pleasantly surprised at her ability to tone herself down for the sake of other parties.

“Human rights,” he replied. 

“Wow, good for you. That’s quite impressive.”

“How about you? You said you finished your first year at uni...what are you planning on getting your degree in?”

“English,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Her response surprised Mark. With her bold, brazen personality and the professional air she smoked her cigarette, he never would have pinned her down as an English major. A communications major, perhaps, or maybe a business major, but not a bookish, introverted English major. 

“English, hm? I suppose you like literature, then.” Mark cringed at the banality of his own question. 

Bridget laughed, and it sounded like the crash of piano keys during a ballad. It was loud and startling, but melodic and wonderful at the same time. “Very astute observation, Mr. Barrister. Yes, I like literature very much. Always have... _ Pride and Prejudice _ is my favorite story of all time.” Mark smirked--he wouldn’t have pegged her as an Austen fan, either. 

“Well, I wish you the best of luck in your pursuit. That’s quite a noble study to take on.” 

“Not as noble as human rights law,” she shot back, clearly trying to get him ruffled up. 

Mark rolled his eyes--he couldn’t help it--as he said, “Noble is far too generous a word. I just like to help people.” He looked over at Bridget as he said this, and saw her face soften. 

“I know that, firsthand. I’d probably still be tangled in that ivy if you hadn’t come to my rescue.” She took one last drag from the cigarette in her hand and then threw the butt across the lane. Mark smiled at her, and she smiled back.

They walked a little bit more in silence, but a silence that wasn’t as awkward as before. If he had known her longer, Mark may have even been gutsy enough to reach out to hold her hand. There was something about her energy that was electric and magnetic, and Mark found himself valiantly fighting against it. He kept glancing in her direction, trying to memorize her profile in the wash of the streetlamp. 

Suddenly, he saw her perk up out of the corner of his eye. He could hear the bass of a speaker somewhere up ahead of him, and Bridget was lifting her chin to scan up the lane at where the noise was coming from. “That where you’re headed?” Mark asked, nodding in the direction of the noise.

Bridget nodded. “My friend Shaz is having a party. Her parents are out of town, so she’s having a few people over. Shouldn’t be anything  _ too  _ crazy, but I’ll truly take anything at this point to just get out of the house.” Mark laughed at this. “What?” she said indignantly. “Just because you don’t like to have a bit of fun doesn’t mean we all don’t.”

“Good point,” he replied, choosing not to take offense this time. They were now only a few feet from the offending house, and he could see college aged students milling about the front garden as a Madonna song blasted through the open windows. “You sure you’ll be alright here?” he asked, suddenly feeling protective of the girl he’d just met.

It was Bridget’s turn to laugh this time, and it made Mark’s heart beat race. “Of course I’ll be alright. Shaz is one of my best friends, and I know all of these people...we went to school together.”

Mark nodded as he tried to suppress the embarrassment he felt as his own question. They were now a few feet away from the front gate of the house, and Mark turned towards Bridget. “Well, have fun. For you and me, both,” he said. “Thank you for walking with me. It made my trip go much more quickly.” He extended his hand towards her again for a goodbye handshake, but was startled when she pulled him into a hug. 

“Now, now, handshakes are for strangers.  _ You _ saved me from impending doom, so a hug is what you’ll get,” she said, her voice hovering somewhere near his ear. Mechanically, Mark brought his own arms up and around her, suddenly overwhelmed with the heady rush of having her in his embrace. He could feel her body pressed up against his, and the top of her head brushed up underneath his chin. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and faintly of cigarettes, and it was in that moment that Mark Darcy became embarrassingly smitten with Bridget Jones. He closed his eyes and pressed a cheek against the top of her head, and he felt her squeeze him a bit more tightly in response. 

Yet, just as quickly as it had happened, Bridget ended it. She gently pulled away from him and smiled shyly up at him. “Have a good night, Mark,” she said, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her overalls. “And good luck with everything...you know, saving the world and all that.” 

Mark smiled and shoved his hands back into his pockets. “You have a good night, too. And thank you. I wish you luck, as well--hopefully I can see you again the next time I’m home and I can hear all about your forays into the world of literature.”

Bridget’s face lit up with amusement as she said, “I’d like that. It’s not like you don’t know where I live now.” Suddenly, a voice shouted across the garden, and Bridget’s name echoed against the night. “Ah, that’ll be Shaz. I best head in. Thanks again for your help and company. Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon.” She scanned his face one more time, threw him a painfully cute smile, and turned on her heel towards the house.

Mark watched her as she jogged across the garden, her arm extended above her head as she waved emphatically towards her friends on the porch. Her hair swung behind her in a glimmering sheet as she disappeared into the house. Mark could still smell her strawberry shampoo on the collar of his polo, and he lifted it towards his nose to take an appreciative sniff. “Bloody Bridget Jones,” he murmured to himself with a smirk.

At that, Mark turned towards town and continued walking towards the pub. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
